Funerals are peculiar things.

Saturday, I attended a funeral of a student that died in a car accident. I didn’t know him personally, but I did know one thing: he wasn’t a believer. I was asked by our church to attend this funeral to possibly counsel with youth who had questions or needed someone to talk to. I’ve been to many funerals and there’s aways a distinct difference between those of people who know Christ and those who don’t. The feeling in the room was absolute devastation. Everyone was clinging on to something and holding on to anything they could find. There was no hope.

It just breaks my heart to think how differently that ceremony would have been if the young boy had known Christ. How it changes our view of this life, if this life isn’t all there is.

I mourn for the loss of that young man’s life because he didn’t know Jesus. I mourn for the family that’s left behind, because they don’t know Jesus. I mourn for the fact that this will all repeat itself again, if they don’t know Jesus.

But I’m getting preachy. What does it mean to me? I now have a picture of that student on my desk. It’s a sobering reminder for me. It reminds me the job I have as a youth worker. I share Christ with kids that don’t know him. And that student represents one that will never know Him. It reminds me the seriousness of the task at hand. There are lost who need to be found. I may not be the Savior, but it’s my job to point them to the Savior.